


One Perfect Moment

by Tenebrae (Trotzkopf)



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: First Meeting, M/M, one happy moment from their past
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2019-06-19
Packaged: 2020-05-14 14:43:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19275424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trotzkopf/pseuds/Tenebrae
Summary: The question was, can you describe one moment from Aziraphale's and Crowley's past that made them happiest? Yes, yes I can.





	One Perfect Moment

**Aziraphale**  

Everyone thinks that the oldest antiquarian bookseller in London is surely Maggs Brothers established in 1853 in a haunted house in Berkely Square. This is of course completely false. The oldest antiquarian bookseller in London is a little known corner shop in Soho which opened in 1800 and belonged then as it does now to Mr A Fell - Purveyor of Books. 

The second time Aziraphale stepped through the door — the first time was when he purchased the premises — but it was the second time when he indulged in a small miracle, filling the empty shelves with his first edition treasures he had hitherto stored in vaults all over London, he felt something he hadn’t experienced in a few millennia. It was a feeling of serenity and sublime happiness which was only eclipsed when the doorbell jingled for the very first time and an old friend swaggered over the threshold, shoving a leather-bound, first edition of _Songs of Solomon with Illustrations for the Discerning Connoisseur_ into Aziraphale’s unresting hands and said, “Got you something for your new home away from home.”

And that was it then. Home. 

**Crowley**

Before time was invented and everyone was still trying to figure out how to assemble the Silver City without a screwdriver — screwdrivers hadn’t been invented yet either — although a screwdriver was clearly depicted as essential in the instructions, an angel lurked under a half-finished archway. 

You might think: an angel, _lurking_? 

This particular angel had perfected and indeed invented it. He was rather proud of it, too, because it gave him the unique advantage to try his other brand new invention which was relaxing. Something none of the other angels seemed to have gotten the hang of yet. Maybe because what angels severely lacked was imagination. That was all except for him of course. 

“Oh, hello,” came a polite voice from the right. 

He couldn’t quite see anyone yet because what angels had also not gotten the hang of was brights control. Like those pesky LED lights in modern cars that seem determined to detach your retina when you try to see the road in the dark, but because you’re half-blinded fail to notice Bessy, the errant cow out for a late night stroll, and that’s that then.

“Uhm, I’m sorry, do you happen to know where the requisition counter is?” The bright light dimmed to reveal the pleasant form of the angel Azirpahale. “It’s only I’ve been told to pick up a flaming sword — whatever that is — and go guard the Eastern Gate of…of something called Eden. It hasn’t been built yet either, but I hear it’s going to be nice.”

The other angel shrugged. “Right. Eh, no. I mean, no idea. Sorry.” 

Aziraphale’s mouth was still smiling, but it was pulling away from him, morphing into a puzzled and yet inquisitive frown, when he asked, “What, uhm, what’re you doing? And here?” He indicated the shady spot under the archway. 

The other angel smacked his lips. “I’m— nah, you wouldn’t understand.” He waved at him. 

“Oh,” Aziraphale gave him a cheeky smile, “go on. Try me. Maybe I’ll surprise you.”

“Right,” the other one snorted. “Alright, I’m _lurking_ out of the light, so I can  _relax a_  little.” He winked. 

“Ah-ha. Lur...lurking? Yes, lurking to—”

“Re-lax.”

“Relax,” Aziraphale repeated the word a few more times. “Has a nice ring to it: relax. I like it. Did you…did,” he pointed upwards, “did a higher power instruct you to do that?” 

The other angel gave Aziraphale a look. “No.”

“Oh! You,” the future Guardian of the Eastern Gate gasped, “you _created_ it? Oh my. That’s so…so...” 

“Forbidden?” The other one ventured, completely expecting to be attacked or at least shouted at like it had happened many, many times before. However, Aziraphale only gave him that cheeky grin again and shrugged, “Oh, I don’t know about that, but I think it’s rather amazing.” 

“Well, that’s a first,” the other one replied, completely taken by surprise. “What’s your name?”

“Aziraphale.”

“I’m—” The sound of great trumpets reverberated through the heavens. 

“Ah! Must be off. It was…it was really nice meeting you,” Aziraphale smiled and added in a stage whisper, “keep up the good work,” and gave the other one a thumbs up before he disappeared. 

“Well,” the angel who would later fall and become known as Crowley said, “how about that?” 

He smiled. 


End file.
